Page 17 of Burn Like An Angel

I stare at my best friend, mouth hanging wide open. “Davis?”

“Yes. He’s dead.”

Xander drops the shirt hem then resumes scanning the medical wing. He doesn’t spare my stunned expression a second glance.

“Did he say Davis?” Raine whispers from the other bed. “Like… Warden Davis?”

“You know any other Davis in here?”

“Fucking hell. He has to be kidding.”

Watching Xander pick around the room, searching for clothing, the punch line never comes. He doesn’t crack a smileor yellgotcha!For each second that trickles past, the dread blooming in my chest grows wings and takes flight.

“I don’t think he is,” I grumble.

“The warden, Nox?” Raine hisses in disbelief. “Xander… he… he wouldn’t do that, would he?”

Honestly, there’s no limit to the fucked up shit that Xander would do. He’s just a hell of a lot quieter about it than the rest of us. That’s how his evil so often goes undetected.

Ducking his head inside a tall cabinet, he pulls out a handful of second-hand clothes from a labelled laundry sack. Xander begins searching for the right sizes.

“I’m not kidding,” he clips out.

A conflicting maelstrom rushes through my mind—disbelief, shock, fear. But for the life of me, I can’t summon the humanity to pity the dead warden. As long as Xander isn’t at risk, I’m glad he’s dead.

“Was it an accident?” Raine inquires hesitantly.

Xander laughs under his breath. “Most certainly not.”

Watching the colour drain from Raine’s face, I refocus on Xander. “What happened?”

He yanks out a bundle of tangled clothing. “We had words.”

“And?”

“And none of his were what I wanted to hear.”

Dipping back into the bag to search for more suitable clothing, he halts as his eyes stray to Ripley. The man who doesn’t bat an eye while telling us he killed the fucking warden now appears… uncertain.

What in the ever-loving fuck?

“He wouldn’t tell me where you were.” Xander’s throat undulates as he quickly looks away. “Where either of you were.”

“Were you seen?” I grit out.

“Of course not. The riot took care of that.”

“Where…?” Raine pauses, swallowing audibly. “Where is he?”

Attention focused on sorting the clothing, Xander holds up an oversized t-shirt, seeming to consider the size. I watch his eyes flit back to Ripley’s unconscious form, comparing her size to the shirt he holds.

“Office,” he replies.

Nodding robotically, Raine now looks a little green. “So… he won’t be found for a while.”

“I suppose not.”

Raine’s been with us for long enough to know how Xander’s bizarre mind operates. The boundaries of human emotion that fail to apply to him. Yet he’s never quite accepted or even understood it.

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